


Reprieve

by Toshi_Nama



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24532978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toshi_Nama/pseuds/Toshi_Nama
Summary: It takes age to know when space is needed to heal a heart - or a marriage. Temptation can always strike, despite the best of intentions.Healing takes many forms.
Relationships: Eamon Guerrin/Wynne
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	Reprieve

Eamon scrubbed his face. Things were...better than they had been when he first woke. They were better, but even miracles couldn’t heal everything.

He couldn’t blame Isolde. Couldn’t.

“Andraste,” he sighed, “it would be easier if I could.”

She’d done it all to keep Connor as heir, terrified that he would name Alistair heir instead if he knew the truth. Sometimes, the worst decisions were made out of love.  _ Much like my promise to tell no one of Alistair’s true birth.  _ Had he done so, how much could have been avoided? Lies and secrets tore more than marriages apart. He should know, but it was the marriage he mourned now.

The too-familiar halls of Redcliffe’s castle would never be the same. How could they? The stink of Lake Calenhad, fouled by what had happened, had faded - but would it ever be gone? Isolde slept in Connor’s room now, and he hated himself that it was her absence he mourned, not his people. He’d go down on his knees if he thought it would matter, but Isolde couldn’t see past her fears. Now that the boy was gone to the Circle, what would become of  _ her? _

All he could do was walk the quiet halls of the castle he’d regained thirty years ago and mourn the wounds he’d left in his wife’s heart.

_ ‘I do not care! You have given away our child, Eamon! Sleep with whoever you like, but it will not be me!’ _

It was only anger. Only grief spoke through her when she said those words. He would  _ not  _ be unfaithful. He never had been, even if she only learned the truth since he woke from Loghain’s poison. The bastard she’d feared was his with a serving girl was their once-king’s, his brother in law’s. He’d raised the child to hide Maric’s indiscretions from the Bannorn and protect his nephew’s place as heir.

In either case, where could he sleep? He’d tossed and turned enough nights in the room that was  _ theirs,  _ but it wasn’t the same without Isolde next to him. All he could do was fight the memories of the half-dreams he’d suffered through until the poison was cured. The other empty room in the family wing, narrow and plain, had been that of the ‘tutor’ turned failed assassin.

So instead of fighting again, he walked the halls he’d known all his life, trying to understand why they were so strange to him now.

“Ser?”

He startled out of his reverie. A servant had a platter of food. “What is this?”

She ducked her head. “For the mage, ser. She asked for supper in her rooms tonight.”

Ah, yes. Teagan had done  _ his  _ duty and sat at Redcliffe’s high table while Eamon tried to reach past Isolde’s grief yet again. Apparently, at least one of Alistair’s companions had no desire to join him. The mage? If she’d asked for food, it was likely the Senior Enchanter Wynne. She’d been kind to Connor as she led him away from the demon that claimed his mind. She’d also personally escorted his son to the Circle where his magic could be trained properly. Eamon started again. He could ask about Connor. It would help Isolde and he both to know their son was content.

“I’ll take it to her.”

“Ser?”

A worn smile tried to make peace with his lips. “Tomorrow is soon enough to be a lord again. Hand me the tray - you can tell Cook you delivered it.”

Once he’d shooed the servant off, he tried to remember how it sounded when they knocked and couldn’t. There was so much he couldn’t remember now, buried under what he’d rather forget. Alistair was back under his roof. His _son_ was gone from it. Teagan was left to dance around the twisted triangle of love, oaths, and a boy who’d done terrible things out of desperation.

The mage didn’t turn around when he opened the door and walked in. "Set it on the table, thank you.” Then she did. “Oh, Arl Eamon! I’m sorry, I hadn’t been expecting you.”

Her hair was down from its tight bun. Halfway brushed, it hung to her waist. No longer wearing the Circle’s uniform, the mage had taken his offer of hospitality and found a shift to suit her.

_ She was a handsome woman. _

Eamon stopped his thoughts, but his feet kept moving toward the table she mentioned. The click of the door on it’s still-balanced hinges behind him promised more privacy than was wise. “I came across the servant bringing your supper,” he said.

“Thank you, ser.”

“Eamon, please.” The words hung in the air for an awkward moment.

Her eyes softened. “Then you must call me Wynne. Please, join me. There’s more food here than I can eat.”

He shouldn’t, not given the realization he’d just had.

_ Isolde said she had no objection.  _ No. He was here out of courtesy, and to ask after Connor. That was all, he tried to convince himself. That was all it was; he wanted to better understand what Connor’s life would be like at the Circle. It was an innocent desire he felt: the care of a father.

None of it was precisely true, but nothing was quite a lie.

Eamon battled with his waning conscience as their private dinner went on, roast venison caught beyond the town drowned in gravy and wine, winter-hard apples stewed in cinnamon and honey following it. He learned about what Kinloch should be, and that the children there were all struggling from their own battles with demons. Perhaps that he wouldn’t mention to Isolde tomorrow, just that Connor had friends who understood him and did not judge.

“You should find your bed, Eamon,” she said gently. He blinked at her, pulled out of his own thoughts.

Unfortunately for his conscience, that meant he focused on the woman in front of him. A bed? Eamon scoffed, too worn with his many battles to hide his thoughts. “I have none. It is easier to stay awake. I have slept enough these past months, have I not?”

“That isn’t healthy, and you know it.”

The tartness in her voice made him smile before it vanished under the truth. Perhaps he should tell her. “The memories are too much in my own, especially as it’s still empty. I can think of nothing but what happened here; the past month...has not been kind.”

The words might have been carefully chosen, but she nodded with far too much awareness. Then she stood, forcing him to do so as well out of courtesy.

“You can take mine. I have not been fighting those dreams, and can go without sleep for a night.”

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. She  _ was  _ a handsome woman; someone near enough his own age, and with evidence the years had been no kinder - but less cruel than his own. However, those thoughts were ones he shouldn’t have.  _ Even if Isolde had said she wouldn’t mind,  _ the voice within whispered. 

“I will not force you from your bed, Wynne.”

It wasn’t an invitation. He could convince himself of that.

It also wasn’t a rejection of her offer.

His words were a way to save face, to be able to tell himself  _ she seduced me,  _ should he feel the need later. They were ambiguous enough that if she sent him away, they could both tell themselves any impropriety was due to the hour, not intent.

Wynne’s hands were cool against his temples. “Come to bed, Eamon. You need respite, too.”


End file.
